the compass points north
by thewindwarns
Summary: The queen of Terrasen is as beautiful as he had heard (and more powerful than his king had ever feared). Four lives in which Chaol Westfall might have loved Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and one in which he did. Chaol-centric sketches of Chaol Aelin and Chaol/Aelin in various AU settings.


Title: the compass points north  
Fandom: Throne of Glass  
Rating: T

Words: 6784 words  
Summary: The queen of Terrasen is as beautiful as he had heard (and more powerful than his king had ever feared). Four lives in which Chaol Westfall might have loved Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and one in which he did. Chaol-centric sketches of Chaol+Aelin and Chaol/Aelin in various AU settings.

Notes: I haven't written fic in nearly a year (and this is my first time writing for TOG), so I hope it's somewhat in character and not too overwrought! May come back to fix this up later, depending on where QOS leads us.

* * *

 **i. long live the queen**

He says goodbye to her on a quiet night in Rifthold, her forehead pressed to his, fingers entwined. There's trouble in the White Fang Mountains, he tells her, and his father - _his country_ \- needs him. He nearly weakens when her tears fall freely, when she pushes the ring back into his hands.

He knows she's heard her brothers and cousins say too many similar things, that she both understands and loathes the favor he thinks he is granting her by lying to her face. (It is better that she doesn't know, he reminds himself, that she cannot even glimpse at the shape of his deceit.)

"You can return it when you come home. To _me_."

( _This_ is the truth, the words he wishes to say, if he could bear it: If I step a foot back in Adarlan, then I have failed everyone I have ever loved. I have failed _you_.)

He stays silent, simply kisses her then, soft and sweet, and tells her not to wait. He will not leave Lithaen with an empty promise, with bitterness nor longing - not when they have learned that is a luxury for them both.

And so Chaol Westfall, a son of Adarlan, oathbreaker and traitor to the empire, saddles his horse and rides towards the beginning of the end.

* * *

Though he has spent four years as the Wolf of the North's right hand man, and even longer as a brother of the Bane, he is not prepared for the sight of the general's fabled cousin. The queen of Terrasen is as beautiful as he had heard (and more powerful than his king had ever feared). His body trembles when he bows in full view of Orythn's court, the weight of her magic felt even in the core of his bones, and as he raises his head, he swears that for the briefest of moments, she had been smiling at him, teeth bared like the witches that patrolled the skies.

He finds the thought of her attention even more terrifying than the steady stare of the Fae prince, the constant companion at her side, ready to steal the life from his lungs.

* * *

He knows he should rest, that his body has been protesting against weeks upon weeks advancing at a feverish pace since he had accepted his duties, but he cannot stop from walking in circles in the confines of his room.

He wills himself to breathe, to remember what Aedion had spoken of on the banks of the river, when the men thought that all their general was doing was wishing his lieutenant a safe journey ahead. He was to arrive in Anielle before them, would be waiting to greet them with his father's forces when they reached the Silver Lake's shores. (Instead, he had turned north, fleeing to Endovier in the cover of darkness, seeking shelter in safehouses until he could be escorted across the border by the Allsbrook boy.)

"She will know that you are there in my place, that you speak _as_ me," Aedion had said, voice drawn low, covered by the rush of the river. "That we are asking for a better world, one of our own making, even when we know the costs."

He had remained silent, his hand on the pommel of Damaris, a gift of protection from his childhood friend, the exiled King of Adarlan himself.

"You are fortunate, Chaol," Aedion had continued, fingers grazing the ring of flowers that had been left at his feet, "Even as a child, Aelin had a fondness for pretty things. For both our sakes, she may grant you mercy yet."

* * *

The knock is solid, and he knows without introduction that her caranam, the infamous Rowan Whitethorn, is on the other side of the door. "You have been summoned," he says, "for a private audience with the queen."

They move quickly and quietly, and he hopes that when he enters what he begins to belatedly recognize as a ballroom, it is not without an expression of utter surprise. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen and sole heir to the great and terrible Emperor Orlon, was playing a bawdy tune he had long since committed to memory, having spent too many years listening to Aedion's drunken bellowing in crowded taverns.

He waits for her to finish the song, her guardian (and his sword) at his back, and does not hesitate when she beckons him forth.

"So," she says, turning to look at him carefully and rising from her seat at the pianoforte, "what brings the young lord of Anielle to our gates?"

He meets her gaze, struck by those blue eyes ringed with gold, at once both familiar and foreign. (It is only then that he begins to think that she is, of all things, _young_.) "I come on behalf of General Aedion Ashryver."

They are closer now, and he watches cautiously as she begins to play with a dagger that had been hidden at her side. (He knows there are others, doesn't dare to guess at how many weapons she may carry, never forgetting that first and last, there is fire in her veins.) "A signet is easily stolen, and yet you bear no sealed message from my cousin. Elide and Ren care little for your king, for what his _father_ did that nearly tore our continent asunder, but they risk my wrath by securing you safe passage. There are many advisers that caution me to throw you into a cell, but Rowan here, you see, suggested that I at least grant you the courtesy of explaining why I shouldn't. So, here we are. Now _convince_ me."

"Because," he begins, "Aedion knows he can give you this, even though he can never undo what happened that night, no matter how much he wishes he had stayed with you even after your parents dismissed him." She narrows his eyes at him, but he senses that she wishes for him to continue, that she may already know his true purpose here. "...and because there are those in Erilea that know of your strength and beg for your justice and mercy as cruelty goes unpunished."

She snatches a piece of sheet music and throws him a glass pen, which he easily catches. "Let's see how quickly you can write, Lord Westfall, and whether you can finish before my patience wears even thinner."

And so he does. He writes of Dorian, of how deeply ashamed he is of House Havilliard's past, of what he would sacrifice to redeem it. He writes of the alliance of nobles and commoners alike across the continent, who once welcomed the protection of Emperor Orlon, but now only feared the corrupting influence of his savior Maeve. And finally, he writes of their one hope, of the queen in the north with the love of her people and the courage to grant them their freedom.

Aelin Fireheart, true to her name, burns the paper upon reading. There are one, two, three moments of silence and then, "I will think about it."

She leaves them then, and he finds himself staring at the doors she had closed behind her, until the prince of Doranelle moves to follow her, sparing only a second's glance back at him. "I trust that you remember the way to your chambers."

When he returns, he locks the door, sinking to the floor; there is not much he can do to keep the sobs from wracking his body. He is not a coward, but that does not mean he is not afraid.

* * *

Progress, he comes to learn, is slow. They tell others that he had requested a leave from the Bane to especially train with Rowan, to better combat the resistance fighters plaguing the troops up north. (There are those that snicker, of course, that question what a boy from Adarlan could teach his own people, but he has long learned to ignore it. And there are those that know what it means for him to be here, that offer him another ladle of his favorite stew.)

His muscles ache after each long day, but he always has a moment of respite when he takes the path through the hidden door, moving behind a tapestry adorned with white stags. It is here, in the warmth of her brightly lit study, the books gathered in towering piles that threaten to tumble upon those sitting and passionately debating beneath them, that he begins to think of Aelin and Rowan as friends.

* * *

When they are feasting and there is music and dance and laughter all around, the servant slips the poison into the emperor's cup. And then, when the signs begin to show that their once beloved ruler is calm and unfeeling, Chaol strikes swiftly with Gavin's sword.

In the commotion, the Fae prince restrains him, and their empress - _queen_ , she reminds them, when she fails to answer to that call - sends him to the depths of their cells to await execution.

She visits him later, the cloak drawn around her. "There is so much I wish I could give you," she tells him, stroking his cheek through the bars.

"Please," he says, voice hoarse, "let me tell them that I acted alone."

She nods, and knowing that she will do everything in her power to protect his family, his friends, his people, he wonders for a moment, when the light hits her face just so, if she had been crying before she had come to meet him. "Your crown," she whispers, gifting him with a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

She is gone before he can thank her, and the amethyst ring, sitting on a chain since the day he decided to be Adarlan's sword, suddenly feels heavy against his heart.

* * *

 **ii. ships in the night**

Chaol has a routine – push through the grueling hours working at Adarlan Industries in the position he had left his father's small company for, and once a week on Sundays, head to Blackbeak Books to meet up with Dorian, Sorscha, and Ress for coffee. It's been their thing since university, shifting from the student center to the bookstore's cafe once they'd struck out on their own. (It hadn't hurt, either, that the proprietor Manon, one of Dorian's family friends – though he supposed it was more apt to describe her as a politely cool business acquaintance – occasionally comped them some pastries when she stopped in now and then.)

They sit at the same table when they can, Dorian and Sorscha pressed together in the corner, giving Ress room to stretch out his legs, and Chaol with a view of the window. The Sunday crowd is full of regulars like them, and in his seat, he tends to see the same group of friends right next to them, stopping by for cake after what he assumes is a shopping spree. He's learned their names – not intentionally through eavesdropping, but from the way her voice carries across the din of espresso machines and Manon's eclectic mix piping through the speakers. Nehemia, Ansel, and _Aelin_. She's always the last to leave, and he suspects, is Manon's favorite customer, because it's always with a heavy stacks of books. Sometimes, he had noticed, her boyfriend Sam would come to pick her up, always joking about whether she would share the box of desserts she was making him carry home.

And so on this rainy Sunday, when he finds himself alone in their customary spot – Dorian and Sorscha visiting her family and Ress at a friend's wedding – he decides to try the pastries she and Sam are always mentioning. (Manon's not here today, but even if she was, he'd insist on paying for all of them anyway.) He does not expect to hear the screech of a chair being pulled up next to him, and the loud thunk of books being set on the table.

"Sorry," she says, arranging her bags around her seat, "I got here late and our usual was already taken. I'm guessing Sorscha and company had better things to do this week too?"

He tries, as gracefully as possible, to finish chewing the bite of cake he had just stuffed into his mouth, and to process what's happening. Aelin, of the Friend Group That Sat Next To Them But Had Never Introduced Themselves, was talking to him as though she knew him.

She looks at him expectantly, and when he still does not answer, she extends her hand. "Aelin."

He shakes it. _This_ he knows how to do. "Chaol."

It is then that she studies his plate more carefully. "Hey, isn't that what I usually order to go?"

He knows he isn't a good liar, so he doesn't bother trying to come up with a cover story, and just tells her the truth instead. "You always talk about how good it is."

"You know what your mistake is?"

"What?"

"Choosing a day when you're alone to eat it all. Lucky for you, I'm here to help."

She smiles at him, and he moves to get another fork.

* * *

He learns that she comes here not once, but _twice_ a week. On Thursday evenings, on her way home from work. "Sam tends to works late those nights anyway," she offers, and he nods because he assumes that is what he is supposed to do, "so I stop here to wait for a bit and then grab food from his favorite place down the street so that it's ready by the time he gets home."

She pauses, as though she is debating asking, but does so anyway. "You must live around here, right? Sorscha told me that they head to the subway after with Ress, but you are always walking."

"Wait, you talk to Sorscha?"

She _snorts_. "You know you're the only one that hasn't actually introduced yourself, right? Dorian and Sorscha did by the third week, and Ress a little after. I'll have to tell Ansel that she lost the bet though."

"What bet?"

"She said that you would introduce yourself to me first. Nehemia said it would be the other way around."

"And you?"

She grins. "I bet that you would give up the last piece."

He looks down and then over, first at his clean plate, and then at her full one, which just a minute ago, he realized, he had placed the last slice of chocolate cake upon.

* * *

It's not as though he means to, but somehow, even though it's a few blocks over from his usual route home, he makes a detour. If Asterin looks surprised to see him, she doesn't express it, just makes him his usual order of decaf and sends him on his way.

He finds her towards the back of the café, curled up in an armchair, her empty cup of hot chocolate resting on the table. She looks up at him for just a moment, and then asks, "Have you read this series?"

They spend nearly an hour discussing what they expect to happen in the next book, of whether the knight will reunite with his queen – he hopes so, but she thinks it will be bittersweet at most – until Sam arrives early, giving Aelin a hug and him a handshake.

"Why don't you join us for dinner at the Red Desert?" Sam asks, "We'll have an excuse to actually sit in the restaurant for once since our apartment doesn't actually have three chairs."

Though he knows he has an early start the next day, he accepts their invitation anyway. Later, as they're swapping stories about horrible bosses, he's glad he did.

* * *

The next Sunday, when Sorscha, Dorian, and Nox arrive, they settle back into their usual rhythm, sharing what they've been up to and asking each other for advice. Nehemia enters first, then Ansel, and finally Aelin. She offers him a wink when he sees money change hands, and he laughs, only to notice that Dorian is staring at him, looking puzzled.

"Nothing," he says, "just thinking about the dessert."

They leave it at that.

* * *

 **iii. acceptable arrangements**

Chaol wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't _this_.

Dorian had once told him that the princess' cousin had given him quite a beating after he had politely corrected her on her accusation that he "ate like a lady," and so he was, in a word, _surprised_ to see her in the hallway with red-stained teeth and an empty bag in her hands, apparently leaving the library after consuming the large assortment of candy from the best shops in Rifthold he had gifted her just that morning on the advice of his friend the Crown Prince.

It made him think of the bedtime stories of those Ironteeth witches, the ones the Crochan queens had long kept subdued, and there was a part of him that selfishly wished there was still trouble in the mountains that would keep his father – and him - occupied at home.

Because here was the thing: in his parents' ambitions of furthering House Westfall's legacy, with his mother's roots and connections in Terrasen, someway, somehow, they had managed to get him engaged to the future queen.

* * *

They are in the garden, being served tea with Lady Marion seated at a table not too far away - as a chaperone, he knows, though she says that she is there to enjoy the pleasant view - and he feels so suddenly old. While he knows that he is younger than her closest friend Aedion, and that they will not be married for years, he can't help but be constantly reminded that she is just fifteen. Their conversation is awkward at best, and he wonders if he bores her as he lists off his interests.

There is a part of him that desperately wants her to _like_ him. He's written stilted letters since their betrothal was announced, hoping to grow something of a friendship – ilove/i was not something he dared to aspire to - and she always responded cordially in turn. It hadn't escaped him that he was only sitting here as a result of his parents' political machinations, and that she might have wanted someone more suited for the role of prince consort. Someone charming and lively. Someone that liked dancing as much as he heard she did, that could carry on long conversations. Someone with magic in their blood, born to rule like her.

He must have frowned as he realized he was describing _Dorian_ , because she let out a long sigh. "Really, if I'm boring you _that_ much, we can talk about something other than Asterion horses."

"Oh, I-that is-it isn't because of you."

She tilted her head to look at him, studying him more closely, and he wondered if the heat in his cheeks was as obvious as it felt. (She was beautiful, even at this age, and he knew she'd only grow even more.) "Then what is it?" She leans in suddenly, almost conspiratorially, and whispers, "You better have a good answer, because you can be sure Lady Marion will report everything she hears back to your mother and _mine_."

The image of them all in the Queen's quarters discussing his behavior, reevaluating his appropriateness and deeming him unworthy when he had worked so hard all these years to be an image of decorum, sends him into a panic. And so he ends up blurting out the question before he can stop himself, cringing as he says the last of his words.

She winces. "Really? We're not to see each other for another year because your battalion is being stationed in the mountains, and you want to spend our time together discussing how much I like the Crown Prince of Adarlan?" She shrugs, and delicately placing another small cake on his plate - the one, he realized, he had written to her as being his favorite - begins giving her thoughts on his friend anyway.

He catches Lady Marion giving him a sympathetic smile from across the way, and wishes he was not quite so tall, so that could disappear even further into his seat.

* * *

On his fourth day in Orynth, Aelin asks him to join her in the library after lunch, and so he does. (Aedion, she had reassured him, would be preparing for his journey to Fenharrow, and would not be there to glare at him, as he had done nearly all the time since his arrival.) It feels different in here, he thinks, the library being much grander than the one in Anielle of course, but also more welcoming than the one he had visited in the glass palace. There is a lightness to it, an openness, and he can see why it was one of her favorite places. (She'd shared that in her fourth letter, he recalls.)

As they discuss a heavy volume of epic poetry, debating the knight's intentions and actions in pursuit of the queen, he starts to feel comfortable. He makes her laugh – not _at_ him, as she had done that first day with Elide, hands covering their mouths, but _with_ him, and it makes all the difference.

Later, when Aelin asks if he would like her to join her again tomorrow, a small smile upon her face, he deems the day quite a success.

* * *

By his third week, he has learned many things about Aelin. Some include the fact that she has always wanted to have a dog like her cousin Garlan, wishes she could spend more time with her friend Princess Nehemia, and abhors the feeling of biting into a chocolate with your least favorite filling. (He remembers to let his mother know about that last one – he half-expects her to send the princess gifts in his absence.)

He, in turn, answers all her questions about his childhood, about the way the moonlight dances across the Silver Lake, of how he is nervous about dancing. He nearly regrets telling her that, until she stands, grabbing his hand and placing it at her waist, humming a song as they attempt to spin around the room.

* * *

It happens quickly. One moment, Aelin is sitting there, enjoying a third helping and the next, she starts to feel ill. Suddenly, flames start to erupt, and he doesn't stop to think, just _moves_.

The guards try to stop him, but he pushes past them anyway. He kneels close, so that she, nearly crumpled on the floor, hobbled over in pain, can hear him.

"Aelin," he says softly, "get up."

* * *

He runs with Aedion daily now, trying to push their worry out with every breath. It has been three days since the incident, and he has not been allowed to see her. The Queen, a gifted healer, says that she needs her rest.

He hopes that she is sleeping well, because he certainly is not.

* * *

His last day, they meet in the garden. Lady Marion is still in their sight, but far enough away that he knows she expects them to exchange words only meant for each other's betrothed.

"Thank you," she says, "for believing in me."

He does not know how to answer, which words would be the most comforting, and so he says, "I don't want to lose my friend."

It is then that she tells him that she is to go to Wendlyn. There is a distant cousin there, one that will train her, will help her better control the magic that recently, has become more difficult to contain. There is no guarantee that their letters will reach them, no matter how much, he hears her confess, that she might want.

"It's alright," he says, "I can wait." (The rest is implied, and he knows that she understands what is being left unsaid, that he does not worry about a few months when they have the rest of their lives.)

They see Lady Marion look away, and that is when Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the Fireheart of Terrasen, rises up on her toes and grants him a kiss on the cheek.

* * *

 **iv. a matter of circumstance**

If there's anything he has learned about his friend in all their years of playing sports together, first in prep school, later in university, and now in their corporate league, is that he hates it when people fail to keep their word, himself included. So when Aedion calls him with a gentle reminder that he promised to take his cousin around Rifthold this weekend while he was on a business trip, Chaol in turn calls Dorian to cancel their Saturday plans.

"Wait, you mean Aelin, right?"

"Yeah, the cousin from Terrasen."

Dorian laughs, and he braces himself for what will follow. "Chaol, you're in for a handful. She's a _force_."

To be honest, he isn't surprised that Dorian knows her. They run in the same old money circles of the social elite, the ones his family is comfortably and respectfully on the edges of. Though he's suddenly wondering why he's never meant her, given how long he's known Aedion, but then Dorian continues.

"We dated briefly, when I did that summer exchange program in Orynth."

"Oh," he says. He isn't surprised about that either, though he's questioning why Aedion failed to mention it.

"She's great. You'll like her. I'm pretty sure she'll like you."

He hopes so too.

* * *

The first thing he notices is that she looks like Aedion. Not just her eyes or her hair, but her very demeanor. That look of confidence where she was good at something, and knew that it _showed_ , even though she seemed tired. (She'd flown from Doranelle he had heard, with a layover in Banjali.) The second thing he noticed was the train of suitcases following her. (He learns later that only half are filled with clothes and shoes, and the others are stuffed with gifts.)

"Hi, I'm Chaol."

"Aelin," she says, and then, "You're different from how Aedion described." She doesn't elaborate, just carefully places a puppy into his hands. "Would you mind watching Fleetfoot for me? I just need to freshen up."

When she returns, she's practically glowing, and he thinks that it's rather like magic.

* * *

She's in the backseat with Fleetfoot in a carrier, squeezed in with other suitcases (and some smaller bags in the front), and he can't help but feel like a chauffeur, driving around the city in Dorian's SUV. Still, she answers his questions and asks her own, letting small stretches of silence go by before engaging in another round of practiced small talk. Her accent claims her as one of Orynth through and through, in contrast to Aedion's oddly continental one, developed from his time in Wendlyn, Terrasen, and now Adarlan. Chaol, despite his desire to, has hardly spent much time out of the country, though Dorian was always offering to take him along on trips, usiness or otherwise.

And then, as if on cue - "Aedion said you're originally from the western part of Adarlan."

"Yes, I'm from a small city called Anielle."

"So, would you say it's a better place to spend your weekend in than Rifthold?"

He can't tell if she's testing (or teasing) him, so he simply says, "Depends on the company."

She seems to be satisfied with that, especially after Fleetfoot barks in assent.

* * *

He helps her up to Aedion's penthouse, and stays when she offers to cook brunch. They chat about her itinerary over toast and omelets, pouring over the map with the places she most wants to visit: Rifthold's famous library, Kavill's, and the grand market.

"If you have things to do," she tells him, after they've compromised on what he felt was a reasonable schedule, despite her protests that there were not enough breaks for food, "I can just meet you for dinner."

He shakes his head. "Aedion was very clear that I was to—"

"I know," she says, "be my bodyguard. He's always been overprotective. But seriously, I don't want to take up too much of your day. You already woke up early to pick me up from the airport."

He's aware that Dorian probably hasn't left yet, and that they could still keep their plans, but smiles at her instead. "You know, sometimes I still feel like a tourist in this city. Maybe it'll do me some good to actually visit these places like one too."

* * *

It turns out that Aelin has a friend in Rifthold that isn't named Dorian, from one of the summer camps she went to as a girl, and so Nox is waiting in the lobby, ready to dogsit Fleetfoot for the day. (Tomorrow, she tells him, she just wants to have a picnic near the Avery River, to let him run around and play.)

Later, when Nox has left, he is about to ask when she answers. "Aedion always felt guilty about going away when we were just kids, so when he says he wants me to hang out with one of his best friends from college all weekend, it's the least I can do."

He pauses to think of a reply, but she pulls on his sleeve. "Come on, we'll be late! The library tour starts at 1."

* * *

He's used to getting different treatment when he's spending time with Dorian, so it doesn't really phase him when he learns they're going on a private tour. What _does_ surprise him is that Aelin had also been in a lengthy correspondence with the librarian that was giving it, but he's not complaining. He'd gone on one of those group tours as a new student years ago, back when he'd just arrived in Rifthold, before he fell into Dorian's crowd and when team captain Aedion was still deciding whether he liked him. With the librarian patiently answering all of Aelin's varied questions, and all of his own, the outings don't compare.

When they're finished, Aelin ushers him to one of the benches just outside. "So, where do you like to go for a quick snack?"

"You're hungry already? But we just ate."

"Hence, _snack_."

He has to think about it. Dorian prefers to spend most of their meals together in fine dining establishments, which he supposes Aelin, having once dated his friend, might like. On the other hand, if she's like Aedion in more than just appearance and strong personality, she might want to try some of the hole in the wall places for some local color. "Come on," he says, finally deciding.

He takes her to one of his favorite food trucks, and watches as her eyes light up in glee.

* * *

After she finishes what he would better classify as an entire meal, they head over to Kavill's. (He's not surprised anymore when they walk in and he learns the staff was expecting them.) The assistant shows him to a comfortable seat, and after sharing in some of the barbecue that Aelin had insisted he try, he finds himself dozing off.

When he awakes, Aelin is speaking with the famous designer himself. Kavill reassures her that the dress will be delivered to Aedion's by tomorrow evening, but she tells him not to rush, that she will cover all the expenses should it need to be sent to Orynth. He thinks it's something her cousin would do, and wonders when he started to think of Aedion as being _Aelin's_ , rather than the other way around.

* * *

She's good at this he learns, exploring some of the established shops in the grand market to take note of the architecture, but _thrives_ in the old section, where sellers still hawk their wares. She's gifted at bargaining, and as the piles of boxes and bags begin to stack up in her arms and his, he is happy to arrive at the garage where they've parked Dorian's car. (She'd mentioned him once, had stated they were on friendly terms and checked in on one another every now and then.)

"So," she says, as they've loaded everything into the trunk and he can guess at what she's going to ask, "where to for dinner?"

* * *

After they've eaten their full at The Silver Lake, a small restaurant serving his favorite dishes from Anielle (and where he had nearly spit out his drink when the owner had come by with dessert on the house, asking why he had failed to mention that he had started dating such a wonderful girl), and they've done a round of last minute grocery shopping, he goes up with her to Aedion's place.

"You can sleep in tomorrow," she says at the door, "because that's what I'll be doing."

He laughs, and she waves goodbye as he heads out towards the elevator, catching the start of her call with Nox.

* * *

When he picks her up at noon, she's holding a large picnic basket he doesn't remember Aedion owning, but what he remembers later that day, when they've said goodbye to Nox, is that everything she had packed had been good.

They confirm her car service for the next day – he has to go in early for work, and you don't say no to President Havilliard, even if you're best friends with his son – and before he leaves, she gives him a beautifully wrapped box. (She must have picked it up that morning, when she'd supposedly been sleeping, because he distinctly remembered _not_ leaving the store with it the day before.)

"I saw you admiring it when we were browsing, but from what Aedion's told me, you'd never get it for yourself."

He opens it later, when he's back in his apartment after they've said their goodbyes, and grins as he reads her note.

* * *

 **v. the only way is forward**

He wonders, if in all the lives they might have lived, whether he would have always been the one trailing behind her, always taking too long to realize the stakes.

He doesn't let himself feel grief at her flinch of hesitation when she lets him join her anyway.

* * *

It feels strange, he thinks, to see them all here, gathered together for a single purpose: to help her win back her kingdom. The others, like him, will look at her, not knowing what parts they have missed, which aspects of her character only they have seen. Still, he feels out of place. He is the one whose blood calls to Adarlan, the one who would risk everything for his _king_ , however much love is lost between the others and his friend's family.

He knows that the rest - even Aedion and Ren, for all their words of thanks - are still wary of him, with Rowan Whitethorn watching him carefully most of all. Chaol has heard them, whispering in the dark, when they think he is asleep. (He remembers a very different time feigning slumber, almost wishes the memory of it away.) Saving Aedion at the midnight hour was one thing, but saving Dorian - no matter how much they may want to - from this Valg is an entirely different matter. (There's a part of him that sickened upon first hearing of it, when Caela-Aelin had gently explained what they were, what Dorian's father had done to him and those others in Wendlyn.)

Never before has he wished he had magic in his veins, if it meant he might have been taken and imprisoned instead. (He'd sworn an oath of loyalty to Adarlan those years ago; what was another life sacrificed in the service of the true king?)

* * *

They move around each other, talking but never saying what he thinks she wants to. So he begins instead, when it's quiet and he knows what it is she looks for when she gazes at the night skies above.

"You belong to Terrasen, and Terrasen belongs to you."

She smiles at him then, pulls her knees to her chest, picking at the grass at her feet. She tells him, slowly at first, and then with a furious rhythm, of all that she went through, ending with the names now etched on her skin.

When she finishes, he sees her move to pull the ring from its hiding place – what he had had been waiting for since that moment he had been granted the chance to set eyes upon her once more - and he makes her stop. "It was a gift for you, to use as you please. Use it to barter for something. Information. Coins. _A chocolate cake the size of the Red Desert_."

She laughs, and he thinks of how much he missed it, how he had noticed it sounded lighter those days after she'd been able to reconcile with Aedion. (And even though his heart is breaking, had started to ever since Nehemia's death, it makes him happier than he ever would have thought to know that he, in his own small way, is the cause of that laughter now.)

He thinks, after all this time, that he's beginning to understand.

* * *

When dawn breaks, he makes his way to her. It is time for him to swear his oath.

"I'm here for you, in whatever way you need. Another weapon, another spy, another friend."

Aelin nods. "Let's go then."

(This time, she flashes him a wicked grin when she beckons him to follow.)

* * *

He isn't sure _when_ it happens, but only that it does.

She shifts, and his first feeling is not one of fear, but of hope.

There's power in her - there always has been - but with the fire at her fingertips, he thinks it makes it all that much easier for her to be who she is. To live fiercely and bravely, to indulge in things like sweets and silks, to summon the courage to fight for people, whether they belong to her or not.

Rowan, watching him watch her, simply nods.

* * *

When they are resting, when he and Dorian have had a chance to grieve for all the losses that went unspoken between them, his friend asks quietly, "Does she know?"

He shakes his head. "What good would it do now? I should have-it would have been different if it had been before."

Now it is Dorian's turn to sigh. "She's her own person, with her own choices, but if it's _you_ again."

"I know."

"Noble to a fault." Dorian leaves him then, walking away for his lessons with Rowan, and it is only after he can no longer see him that he notices Aedion, sitting silently against a tree.

"It would be your luck, Chaol Westfall, to fall in love with her all over again."

He struggles to find the words to say to her cousin, the ones that Dorian had understood without him having to admit it out loud. "It's not again, so much as..."

Aedion doesn't push him, just lets him sit there for a moment in the unexpectedly comfortable silence. And then - "She is different from how I knew her too." (Chaol suddenly _gets_ it, that in their bonds to Aelin, though different, he and the general share something that the others don't quite understand.)

They don't say anything after, not for a while, until Ren comes over, still bruised from their training the other day, and asks them to spar.

* * *

As they ready to cross into Terrasen, he finds himself near her and Dorian in the center, with Aedion and Ren leading and Rowan guarding their rear.

She sees it first, and stops abruptly. A _family_ of white stags.

She reaches for his hand and he gently clasps it before letting go, staying in place with the others as she moves closer and is the first of them to step across.

Chaol Westfall, disgraced Captain of the Guard, once loyal to a tyrant, finds a simple joy in welcoming Aelin - the heir of royal bloodlines, the savior of their countries, his _friend_ \- home.


End file.
